“How are things with Hi — with that Gavin guy? He still behaving himself?”
Val looked at Rachel sharply but the near-slip appeared to be unintentional. “Things have been okay. He's been, um, very friendly. We talk in Art sometimes.”
Though he'd been a little scarce lately.
She didn't have his cell, and he didn't have a Facebook, so she only really talked to him at school. Sometimes he didn't even talk to her in Art at all, and she kept fearing that he, too, would lose interest in her, and end up kicking her to the curb.
The thought made her feel terribly lonely. Without James or Lisa in her life, Val was suddenly, painfully conscious of just how her social circle was.
“Have you kissed him yet?” Lindsay wanted to know.
“Um, well … yes?”
“How was he?” Rachel asked, grinning.
“I don't know.” Val turned red. “I've never actually kissed anyone before.”
“Aww, are you blushing? You are too cute.” Rachel patted her on the head. “Isn't she cute?”
“Very,” Lindsay agreed. “Just make sure Gavin keeps his hands to himself when he's not welcome. If he doesn't treat you right,” she punched her fist into her palm, “we'll rough him up.”
“Good luck with that, Wonder Woman,” Rachel said.
A drop of water fell on Val's nose. She winced, thinking it was a bead of sweat. Then another fell as she tilted her head up, right in the eye, and she noticed how the sky was darkening. Clouds as black as blobs of ink were rolling in, blotting out the tentative, greenish light peeking through the cloud cover. A cold wind ringed the three girls and Val went from burning up to freezing.
“God, that's cold.” Val rubbed at her bare arms, shivering. “Looks like a big storm.”
Lindsay stuck her tongue out at the clouds. “Back in Kansas, a sky like that meant business.”
“I didn't know you used to live in Kansas.”
“Me, either.” Rachel cut her eyes at Lindsay. “Bitch. I thought we were best friends. What else haven't you been telling me?”
“It's not something I like to tell people. It makes people think I'm a hick or that I have inbred cousins.” She rolled her eyes. “Like they wouldn't get just as uptight if they were asked about their backyard marijuana gardens and movie star neighbors.”
“That's just dumb,” said Val.
“I don't think of inbred cousins,” Rachel said helpfully. “I think of the Wizard of — ”
“Finish that sentence and you're a dead woman,” Lindsay said.
“Come on girls.” The coach clapped her hands and all three of them looked up. “Locker rooms, stat. We've been rained out.”
“Well, you heard the coach. Let's get hopping, Toto. We're not on the track field anymore.”
Rachel squealed as Lindsay lunged for her. The two of them zigzagged through the rain, giggling and shouting, as they knotted through their tired teammates.
Val laughed, and then cut off guiltily as if she felt it weren't something she was permitted to do. She eyed the dark clouds looming from behind, and at the shadowy bleachers. It was creepy. She felt watched, but there was nobody there. None that she could see, anyway.
I wonder.
But when she got to her locker it was clean. No flowers. No poetry. No writing.
She let out a quiet sigh of relief and slung her backpack over her shoulder. There was no point in changing into her regular clothes, she thought. They'd just get soaked — and she was already sweaty. She pulled out her phone from her track jacket and dialed home but no one answered.
Did her mother have something going on today? No, she hadn't given Val bus fare.
“Come on,” she said, dialing again. “Mom, what the hell? Pick up the phone.”
But the busy signal was obstinate.
“Damn it.” Val plopped down on the school's rain-slicked front steps with her wet hair hanging in her eyes. Now what am I supposed to do? She started to call Lindsay, hoping her friend hadn't already gotten too far from campus, when a white Camaro rolled up to the curb.
The window cranked down, and a familiar voice said, “Val?”
She jumped up, raking her hair out of her face. “Gavin? Where did you come from?”
“The art building. I was helping Ms. Wilcox with things.” He trailed off. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“My mom. I'm going to be running a fever if she doesn't get here soon.”
“Is she on her way?”
“No,” Val said. “I can't get hold of her.”
“I could give you a ride,” he said carefully.
She felt a bolt of dread and something else, something like anticipation. “I live on the other side of town from here. I'm probably way out of your way.”
“You are, but you can wait at my house, if you like. Surely you have someone else that you can call to pick you up.” When she hesitated, his smile morphed into a grin. “I don't bite, Val. Not hard. Not unless I'm asked to.”
The rain did nothing to cool her face. “Okay,” she mumbled.
“Get in.” He reached over and popped the lock for her — a manual lock. God, this car was old. She opened the door and slid into the seat, aware that she was dripping water all over the upholstery and floor. “I'm getting water everywhere — ”
“It's nothing.” He turned up the heater.
The inside of the car was clean and warm, smelling of leather, and coffee, and aftershave. Val relaxed a little at the soothing blend of scents and tugged off her jacket, holding it in front of the hot air blasting from his dashboard. Her skin felt clammy and dead where it had been in contact with the wet fabric. She shivered again, and caught him glancing at her uniform.
She hugged her backpack to her chest. “Thanks again.”
“It's nothing,” he said.
The silence made her uncomfortable. He didn't listen to music and except for the patter of rain and the roar of the heater, it was silent.
“I hope this isn't weird,” she blurted.
“Weird?” His eyes flicked towards her and returned to the road.
“You still don't know anything about me. For all you know, I could be a psychopath.”
He smiled at that, but kept his eyes straight ahead. “I'll take my chances.”
“I could even be a serial killer,” she went on, emboldened, wanting to make him laugh.
He did.
Gavin lived near the hills, in the foothills practically, in one of the larger houses. He pressed a button on his keys and the garage door swung open. As he maneuvered the car inside she couldn't help noticing how empty it was. Her father would have killed for such Spartan neatness.
“It's so clean,” she said, doing a little spin. “Did your dad do this?”
Oh, wait. He didn't have a dad, she remembered. Or at least, not a listed one. She nearly apologized and then remembered that she wasn't supposed to know that.
“I did it myself,” he said, “thanks. It's convenient, parking inside. No need to get wet.”
She nodded, and slung her jacket over her arm. Idiot, she chastened. He hates you.
Gavin opened the door leading into the house. The rooms were big, but bereft. She stared at what she supposed was the living room, devoid of anything but two chairs, a bookshelf, a love seat, and a chess table. “Your family's not too big on TV, huh?” she said.
“I live alone.”
“Oh.” She blinked as the implications of those words sank in. “Oh, God — I'm so sorry!”
“They're not dead. I just don't live with them. I haven't for a while, now. Not since I was sixteen.”
It took Val a moment to speak. “I thought you had to be eighteen to — ”
“Live alone?” he finished. “Technically, you do. But there are always exceptions. You'll learn that soon enough. Go ahead and sit down. I'm going to make some tea. It's cold in here.”
Val sat in the chair closest to the chess set and tried her phone again. The line was still busy. She set it
on the edge of the table, shaking her head. Living alone since age sixteen? She couldn't imagine. That sounded so lonely. No wonder he was so strange! Her parents weren't perfect, but she wouldn't even know where to begin without them.
(his family is crazy)
Had he been one of those — what was the phrase? — emancipated minors?
Gavin walked back into the room and handed her a steaming cup of tea, setting his own down at the table before taking the chair across from hers. His eyes skipped from the board to her face. “Do you play?” he asked, taking a sip of tea.
The fumes from hers were heady and sweet. Mint, she thought. “No.”
He set the cup down. “I can teach you. Would you like to learn?”
Val stared at the small army of pieces. There were so many. “If you want to teach me.”
“It would be a pleasure, Val. Really, the game is quite simple once you understand how they move. The short, round ones are pawns — ” he picked up one of the stunted chessmen comprising the first rank “ — they can only move one space forward at a time and always capture diagonally. Except for the first move, where they have the choice of moving two spaces — and for en passant, where a pawn can capture another pawn that has also moved ahead two.”
“Pawn passant,” Val said.
“Quite. Chess pieces are rather territorial, but we won't be worrying about that for now,” he added, glimpsing her confusion. “The ones that look like stallions are called knights and they move, and capture, in an L-shaped pattern, three by one spaces in any direction you desire.
“The pointed ones are bishops. They move, and capture, diagonally. The castles are called rooks and can move horizontally or vertically. They can also be used in a defensive move called castling in tandem with the king. We'll get to him in a moment after we discuss his lovely consort.”
“Consort?” Val repeated blankly.
He picked up the black queen. “Yes. Consort. The queen is arguably the most powerful piece in the game. She can move like a rook and a bishop combined, carving out large sections of the board for herself and placing them under her power.”
Val watched him set the piece down. “What can the king do?”
Gavin's lip curled. “Not much, I'm afraid. Like the queen, he can move in any direction but his scope is limited to one space only. He's rather like a glorified pawn.”
“Oh,” said Val.
“Yes, well — “ he tapped the board, “ — shall we?”
Val played White. She didn't want to, but he insisted, and she immediately proceeded to fumble the game. Several times, she moved pieces the wrong way, and when she tried to castle she switched the rook with the queen instead. Each time, though, he corrected her mistakes with impassivity, and when she realized he wasn't going to laugh at her she began to enjoy herself.
In many ways, chess was similar to the video games she played on her various consoles at home. There were rules, and you could not bend them. Sometimes you could work them in conjunction with one another, though, and play the field to your advantage — but there were no cheat codes for extra chessmen or power-ups in chess.
Gavin might as well have been cheating, though. He was good. Very good. Incredibly good. Even as a beginner, she could tell. He spun complex traps, so many moves in advance that, in retrospect, the innocuous move of a pawn suddenly seemed like a harbinger of doom.
Before ten moves were up, she was already down as many pieces.
“Running away from me?” he teased, when she was forced to retreat. “So soon?”
“You're going to win,” she protested.
“Oh, I think I've already won, my dear.” He'd infiltrated the ranks of her pieces and took one of her rooks, simultaneously making sure that she couldn't castle with the other. “I'm just playing with you now.” He studied the rook in his hand for a moment before placing it off to the side.
“Why would you do that? It's not very nice.”
“Don't make it so easy for me to take advantage of you, then.” He took another piece.
She glared at him.
Levelly, he returned her gaze, his lips curved like a cat's. “What would you say if I told you that I could have checkmated you and ended the game ten turns ago?”
“I'd say you're messing with me.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. How sure are you? Sure enough to make a bet?”
The intent look in his eyes made her falter. “What kind of bet?”
“How confident do you feel?”
“P-pretty confident.”
“Really?”
“Yes?”
“Well, in that case … you would be wrong.”
“What?” Her eyes scanned the board. “I don't see ho — ”
He moved his knight, which had been in the corner this whole time, forgotten and harmless. Or so she'd thought.
“Checkmate.” He picked up his tea and sipped it as she stared at the board. “Good thing were weren't playing for keeps, isn't it?”
She must have looked startled, because he set down his cup and said, “Good game.” When he clasped her hand in his it was warm, almost hot, from the mug of tea he'd been holding. “You put up a good fight,” and his grip tightened briefly before he pulled away, “trust me; I've played with some of the best — I know.”
“What was that like?”
“Exhilarating.” She watched his eyes go to the window. The sky had grown less menacing and Val could make out the faded twilight peering through the gaps in the denim-dark clouds. “You should call home, perhaps,” he added, as if as an afterthought.
Val glanced at her phone, did a double-take. Oh my god, it's 7:13. Her mother would be worried sick. She probably already was. How had so much time elapsed without her noticing? She hazarded a look at Gavin, now cleaning up the board, and answered her own question.
Her legs shook a little when she got up from the chair, after sitting still for so long. She dialed her home number. The phone picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” Her mother's voice was wary.
“Um, Mom? It's me, Val — I'm done with track practice.”
“Val? What happened? Are you all right? I was so worried. I tried to call you nearly half a dozen times but you didn't answer.”
Val glanced at her call history. “I never got any calls from you, and my phone was on the entire time.”
“It must have been the storm,” Val's mother said, “it took out one of the telephone poles and caused a power surge several blocks over — you weren't outside, were you? Where are you now? Still at school?”
“N-no! Don't worry. I stayed at an, um — ” Gavin was still setting up the pieces, not looking at her, but that didn't mean he wasn't listening. “At a friend's,” she finished, turning back around and perching herself on the arm of the leather chair, subsequently missing the satisfied smirk that marred his face at her words.
“Lisa's?”
“No.”
“Someone from track?”
“Mom, I have friends outside track.” She gave her mother the address, adding, “It's pretty to find. He lives in the big house with the white shutters at the end of the street.”
A pause. “He?”
Uh-oh.
“Is this the boy you were telling me about in the car? The senior?”
She made the word sound tantamount to 'senior citizen.' “It's not like that. He just — ”
“This is neither the time nor the place to discuss it. You, your father, and I shall be talking about this later, young lady.”
“But I didn't — ”
“I'm on my way now. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Be ready.”
The phone went dead. Val glared at it.
“Is there a problem?”
“No.” Val buried her face in her hands. “Oh, maybe. I don't know.”
“I hope it wasn't through any oversight of mine.”
Val wasn't entirely sure what 'oversight' meant. “My mom's — ” stupid “ — protective.”
“Ah, I s
ee. So she thought that you, and I— ” he was standing in front of her now, she hadn't even heard him move “ — were playing a different kind of game. Is that the gist of it?”
Val swallowed nervously. “That's, um … yeah. About the gist of it.”
“Because I'll admit the thought has crossed my mind.” He took another step closer, so that he was standing between her dangling legs. “On occasion.” The caress of his still-warm hands at her waist and the intimacy of the skin-on-skin contact made her jump; despite their warmth, his fingers seemed to leave strings of rime in their wake. “Now.”
The desperate wanting in his eyes scared her. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of a yawning abyss, one misstep away from falling headlong into dark waters. And when she did, she wondered, would she float — or would she drown? She was certainly drowning now; she could barely breathe.
“You're so beautiful, you know. I've always thought so. Wild and artless.”
Really? She didn't think those words described her — not at all. He's going to kiss me, Val thought, watching him watch her and quelling an irrational urge to flee. I really think he is.
If this was love, it felt different than she'd imagined it would, walking a thin line between passion and terror. It was Romeo and Juliet. It was Wuthering Heights. And Val was left petrified from the boiling intensity of it. “I'm just ordinary me.” She wet her lips. “I'm nothing special. Not like that.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Show me,” he said, and with a clash of teeth and lips, they were kissing, and the rain on her skin seemed to blaze. He placed her hands, which were pressed against his chest as if trying to push him away, around his neck, pulling her closer. His own hands returned to settle at her waist, tracing spirals, swirls: scratching runes of fire into her skin.
The lump of ice in her throat seemed to melt, trickling into her belly and simmering like hot honey, filling her lungs with dizzying steam that suffocated even as it intoxicated. His lips disappeared from hers and she felt the scrape of his stubbly cheek against her neck and the sandpaper roughness of his tongue as he kissed the place where her heart beat fastest.
Her breathing quickened and she felt faint, like a rabbit not sure whether to freeze or bolt. He bit her and she felt his tongue trail over her skin, tasting the marks he'd left, before returning to her mouth.
Fearscape (Horrorscape) Page 9